


The Proverbial Pat

by Vituperative_cupcakes



Category: Sleuth (2007)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:58:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2579132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vituperative_cupcakes/pseuds/Vituperative_cupcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deleted scene of Milo waking up after the first shot and how he reacts to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proverbial Pat

Milo wasn't dead. That was the first thing.

The next was something he couldn't quite process. He still hadn't quite finished with the first thing and stared blankly off into the distance.

The fish tank rose, covering the safe again and bringing Milo back upright.

Andrew plunked down beside him. He oozed false sympathy and barely-concealed glee.

“Did you really think I was going to kill you?”

Milo didn't answer. His heart was still beating rapidly, it was all happening too fast. He had been shot. He had been shot. He was alive.

“You fainted, you see? It was a blank.” Andrew chuckled.

Milo's head hung unsupported, only the wall beside him kept it from slumping over. Andrew leaned in familiarly, Milo could smell the alcohol on his breath. Smugness radiated off of him in waves. He put a chummy hand on Milo's hip.

“If I’d have killed you, I’d have had to bury the body in the garden, or something,” Andrew explained, “too exhausting.” He laughed.

Something in Milo crumbled and broke away. He wet his lips, staring at the opposite wall.

Andrew hefted himself up.

“Drink?” he offered. “I know you probably need one, you've had a bit of a shocker.” He laughed again.

Andrew walked over to the service and poured a small measure of whiskey.

“You know, I hesitated a bit,” he said over the clinking of glass, “even though it was blank, I still wasn't sure if I really was going to shoot you. Wasn't sure I had to, you did a good job of humiliating yourself on your own.” He stoppered the bottle. “Of course, you probably didn't mean any of that, did you? I don't suppose you'd really agree to leave my wife alone to go bugger a goat.”

Silence.

“Be honest—I didn't think you'd jump so quickly at the jewels. You must really be broke, eh? Hunger is a powerful lesson, my lad, but it will rule your life if you don't watch it.”

The second thing hit.

Milo cried white-hot tears like bullets.

Andrew chewed back a smile as he watched liquid run from Milo's nostrils and eyes.

“Well,” he said, “cheers,” and drank the whiskey himself.

Milo took several shuddering breaths, his sobs tapering off to nothing.

Andrew gasped in satisfaction. “Good year. Great year. Here—” he splashed a minute amount into the glass, “—here's to you, Mrs. Robinson.”

Milo numbly accepted the glass, pouring the whiskey over his teeth. He mopped his face with his sleeve.

Andrew took a seat opposite him, so that his lap was at equal height with Milo's face, and sat with hands folded.

“Now,” he said primly, “I believe this puts me at six love.”

Milo looked up through glazed eyes. “What?”

“This. You. Fainting. Shitting yourself in fear.” Andrew sighed happily. “I have to admit this was a bit diabolical, even by my standards. Still...gave you quite a jolt, didn't I?”

Milo swallowed. Andrew looked at him almost fondly.

“No hard feelings,” he said, “right?”

Milo blinked. “No hard feelings,” he echoed.

“I mean, you've been outclassed. I've had you pegged since the moment you walked in my door. No, since you pulled in my drive.” Andrew smiled benevolently. “Don't feel too bad. Maggie didn't really prepare you for this. Maybe a little on purpose. You sure she's not been leading you round by the prick, mate?”

“Maggie,” Milo said hoarsely.

Andrew nodded condescendingly. “Yes, dear, Maggie. Marguerite Wyke, trips so nicely off the tongue, doesn't it?”

Milo rotated his head slightly, looking up at Andrew through big, teary eyes. There was a roaring red anger on the horizon, it screamed towards Milo at a thousand miles a second.

“Has she told you her full name? Always hated it. The first time we met she told me—” Wyke's voice assumed a piercing falsetto, “— _'oh please call me Maggie, Marguerite makes me feel so_ _ **old**_.'”

The anger broke in a clear, clean wave. Milo's tears stopped. He became suddenly composed.

“Well,” he said in a voice like cut glass, “I’m afraid I must be away.”

Andrew looked, amused, over the rim of his glass. “Must you? You can't tarry just a while longer?”

Milo reared back and looked Andrew in the eye. The older man withdrew slightly, the beginnings of concern wrinkling the skin between his brows. Milo smiled like a lightening flash.

“Prior appointment, I’m afraid.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Do I know them?”

Milo cocked his head. “No,” he said slowly, “I don't believe you do.”

Andrew's benevolent pomposity soured. “Well,” he said crisply, setting his glass down with a heavy _clink_ , “let me show you out.”

Milo regarded Andrew's outstretched hand for a moment before rising on his own. Milo stood in place for a moment, rolling out his neck, eyes closed, breathing deep. He could feel Andrew near, his presence was like an off-key hum. When he opened his eyes again Andrew was pretending to examine the bullet holes, but Milo could tell his peripheral vision had him in their center. He stretched and yawned, shifting so that his trousers pulled tighter around a certain part of his anatomy. Through slit eyes, he thought he could see Andrew take notice.

At the door, Andrew called after him: “Oh, Milo?”

Milo halted on the threshold but did not look back.

“I suppose you could say it's game, set, and match to me, eh?”

Milo let the silence linger for too long.

“Later, Andrew,” he said.

He did not have to look at the expression on Andrew's face. As Milo drove away from the house, he was already smiling again.


End file.
